


Rain, Rain, (Don't) Go Away

by youaresunlight



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Boyfriends, Fluff, M/M, Reading Aloud
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-31
Updated: 2014-07-31
Packaged: 2018-02-11 04:22:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2053428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youaresunlight/pseuds/youaresunlight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas always reads to Dean when the weather is unsuitable for them to leave the motel, but today Dean happens to reflect on just how much their routine means to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rain, Rain, (Don't) Go Away

**Author's Note:**

> This is the fill for a cute [prompt](http://mo-dernhero.tumblr.com/post/91077330208/cas) I came across on Tumblr. With all the angst in store for season ten, I decided to indulge in writing some schmoop where everything is beautiful and nothing hurts (heh).
> 
> Cross-posted at my [Tumblr](http://puppycastiel.tk/post/101400564675/dean-cas-rain-rain-dont-go-away).

Cas’ voice blended gorgeously with the rain. He _always_ sounded sort of gravelly and wonderful, especially to Dean, but today his usual monotone took on a soothing cadence, accompanied by the beat of a thousand raindrops tapping on the motel roof.

They were sitting up in bed with the blanket over their laps, Cas a comfortable weight against his side. Dean pulled Cas closer, gently as to not interrupt, and allowed each word to wrap itself around him, warm and snug. It’d been a good idea to stay in for the afternoon.

“Trout was in Billy’s dining room, gobbling canapés. He was talking with a mouthful of Philadelphia cream cheese and salmon roe to an optometrist’s wife. Everybody at the party was associated with optometry in some way, except Trout. And he alone was without glasses.”

Cas had picked up _Slaughterhouse-Five_ at a used bookstore last week, during their pit stop in some quaint little college town. He’d climbed into the Impala and pulled the novel out of its bag, holding it up for Dean to see, eyes expectantly gauging his reaction, and Dean had just stared back for a moment, incredulous, because he couldn’t even recall telling Cas about his preference for Vonnegut. Perhaps he’d mentioned it in passing a while ago, one of those details you expect to be heard and quickly forgotten. But then again, this was Cas, who seemed to remember everything when it came to Dean.

“The adulation that Trout was receiving, mindless and illiterate as it was, affected Trout like marijuana. He was happy and loud and impudent. ‘I’m afraid I don’t read as much as I ought to,’ said Maggie. ‘We’re all afraid of something,’ Trout replied. ‘I’m afraid of cancer and rats and Doberman pinschers.’”

Dean shifted to rest his head on Cas’ shoulder, and Cas immediately straightened up to make the position more comfortable for him. The old band tee Cas was wearing felt smooth beneath Dean’s cheek and the fabric smelled like both of them, its scent redolent and familiar.

“‘I should know, but I don’t, so I have to ask,’ said Maggie, ‘what’s the most famous thing you ever wrote?’ ‘It was about a funeral for a great French chef.’ ‘That sounds interesting.’ ‘All the great chefs in the world are there. It’s a beautiful ceremony.’ Trout was making this up as he went along. ‘Just before the casket is closed, the mourners sprinkle parsley and paprika on the deceased.’ So it goes.”

“I love this part,” Dean mumbled; Vonnegutesque humor struck him as particularly brilliant when delivered in Cas’ voice, all low and serious. Cas acknowledged the remark with a nod, a brush of his stubbled jaw against Dean’s hair, but didn’t break his steady rhythm.

“Now an optometrist called for attention. He proposed a toast to Billy and Valencia, whose anniversary it was. According to plan, the barbershop quartet of optometrists, ‘The Febs,’ sang while people drank and Billy and Valencia put their arms around each other, just glowed. Everybody’s eyes were shining.”

Dean had figured having someone read aloud to him would feel... foreign. Corny. After all, no one had done that for him since he was four. His childhood had been devoted to Sam, keeping Sam safe, and it wasn’t until Cas first settled beside him on the bed with a copy of _To Kill A Mockingbird_ (yet another pleasant surprise) that Dean realized just how much he’d missed that special brand of calm, one he hadn’t consciously thought about in years. 

He raised his head from the angel’s shoulder. “Hey, Cas?”

Cas paused and turned toward Dean, who grinned at the sight of that untamable hair, sticking out in every imaginable direction. He reached out to push his hand through it, loving how Cas sighed contentedly at the touch, blue eyes traced with a fondness he reserved solely for Dean.

“Mm, what is it?”

“Nothing, I just...” Dean trailed, chuckling when Cas tilted his head, prompting him to elaborate. He’d gotten used to the movement but it still made him smile, so odd and adorable and befitting of Cas. “Sometimes I don’t get why you put up with me.”

Cas’ brows knitted in puzzlement. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, after all this time, you still bother to remember stuff about me... you know, what I like, dislike. It blows my mind how much you care, Cas. Even now, you’re reading one of my favorite books. For _me_. And you’ve-” Dean’s fingers ghosted down to toy with the shorter hairs at Cas’ nape. “You’ve stuck around.” 

Cas shut the paperback over one hand to mark his place and regarded Dean with affectionate indulgence. They’d had this conversation before, several times, but Cas was patient, always willing to remind Dean of his answer whenever he needed to hear it. “You’re different.”

“Yeah, pretty damn special,” Dean huffed, attempting to mask the swelling feeling in his chest with self-deprecation. “Why, ‘cause I'm so high maintenance?”

“No, Dean,” Cas offered a crooked smile, a blend of ‘here we go again’ and unabashed adoration, as he leaned over to press his lips to Dean’s mouth, chaste and unhurried. His eyes were soft and caressing when he drew back. “Because I love you.”

They held each other’s gaze for a moment and Dean felt himself relax completely, weeks’ worth of tension and edge leaving his body. He and Cas had their fair share of intensity, both on jobs and in private (it wasn’t his fault that Cas looked so delectable in Dean’s clothes), but he relished the quieter days as well, when he could spend his rare hours of peace in Cas’ company. He’d even grown to appreciate heavy rain, which he hated as a kid because it would upset Sam, and it truly amazed him how changing Cas had been in every way, no matter how small.

“Should I finish the chapter?” Cas hummed as Dean draped an arm around him.

“Yeah. Please,” Dean said. “Then let's order some food, alright? I'm starved.”

Cas laughed and flipped back to the page he’d stopped on, scanning the paragraphs for the right spot. And when Cas’ mellow voice began to fill the room again, Dean tipped his head back against the headboard, eyes fluttering closed, hoping for the rain to continue falling into tomorrow.

**Author's Note:**

>  **Update (10/31/14):** This fic was awarded Runner-up in the Best Romance/Fluff Category of this year's [No Rest For The Wicked Awards](http://wicked-awards.livejournal.com/40061.html). Thank you to the judges for selecting my work!


End file.
